Beeston Surprise
Surprise :I arrive in the town of Beeston, heading south and home from my last job in Appleby. A few days of hard riding to get here, as I have a small job. Nothing too dramatic, I should be able to do it on my own. I have been hired to get information. A little surprise for someone; although I hope that the surprise will be that he will not find out that his private papers have been searched for evidence of his wrongdoing until I am long gone south. :Pulling up my horse at an inn, I put the long-suffering nag in the stables and pay the ostler to care for her. I ask him for directions around the town. I don't want to attract attention to where I am going. In fact, I don't even know myself. The Wolf only moved here recently. :Seems to be trying to make a home for himself. A den for a she-Wolf, perhaps? I snigger at the thought. Happens to all men, that one does. Even high-ranking Wolves. :This one is an odd one, however. He's never been caught doing anything actually wrong, just openly a Wolf. He must have done something... from what I have been able to find out he has a fearsome reputation for cold violence when it is necessary. Sounds like an Emotion. I don't think he is, though. And that is what I have been sent here to find out. Break into his home, find his belongings and papers, search for evidence of villainy. Show him for the animal he is. A fascinating job. :So, find his house, wait until he's out, sneak in and search. Sounds easy, but a senior Wolf will be as canny, sneaky and dangerous as I am. Better be very careful this time. No pampered noblewoman to carry off today. This is a real test. Iceygrave :Grave looked around the inside of The Firebird. It was quiet in there. The other day it had been hopping with people. The truth was, that was probably why it was so comatose tonight - everyone was still nursing a hangover. The place smelled of fresh wood and slightly old beer. A good smell for an Inn. He was sure that the Firebird would become a regular haunt for many of Beeston's residents. :Downing his mug, he set it heavily on the bar. Lela herself was not that, but one of her barmen was, so Grave tipped him a little extra and strode to the door. It opened easily under his hand. A shot of cold, crisp air hit him in the face, making his eyes water. He coughed a ribbon of steam and walked out. The moon had not risen yet, and the town was covered by a pallor of mist. Strange shapes moved around in it. Drawing his cloak closer around his shoulders, the Frenchman became one of them. Surprise :Many people are moving around the town at night. My mark is supposed to be fairly tall, with white hair and scars. I see no-one of that description. If I were so striking I would dye my hair; perhaps that is what he has done. I content myself with leaning against a wall, watching the men that walk by on their way home from work or the tavern. :You can usually spot a fighter by the way he walks. Light on his feet, watching the shadows. I can see a few faces and feet that might be him. I tend to draw attention myself, especially alone late at night, so I watch the passers by from the stable yard - eyes from the darkness. :No sense in being hasty, especially with a professional such as this one. I wasn't intending tonight... sure way of getting in trouble, going in too fast, and I don't want... wait? A cloaked man. He looks ordinary enough... but. I swear he knows how to fight, just from the way he moves. He's watching the shadows as well. Possibly a strand of white hair? I watch him as he walks his route home. He seems to be looking at landmarks. Not familiar with the route then... fits in with a new resident, remembering where he now lives. He eventually stops at a white house, with what looks like a few millstones against the wall outside, and lets himself in. The candles are lit. :Making a note of the place, I set off to find lodgings for the evening, overlooking his home. Get an eye for his movements. I'd rather have gone in at night, but if he is late in the tavern and then an early riser that will be a problem. Wolves and Emotions alike tend to be light sleepers. They have to be. :Well, if I have to go into his house in daylight when he is delivering his flour to market, so be it. I'll have to be quick. He's bigger than me, perhaps not faster but he'll know what he's about. The last thing I want to do is fight such a one. :Seeing a house that looks like it has been empty for some time, boarded up, I quietly let myself in and go upstairs. Perfect. Push a few of the boarded windows a little and I can see out. A quick catnap, then wake up to watch and wait.* Iceygrave :"Hmmm. Strange." Grave feels eyes watching his back, but as he surreptitiously looks around he can see no-one. Whoever it is must be well concealed. Either that or he is imagining things again. He was not made for these early nights and early mornings. The darkness is the bed companion of the Wolf, just as it is the friend of the torturer. He has been both in his time. :The river smells strongly tonight and he is drawn down towards it. After a short walk watching the sleeping ducks, their heads tucked down into their necks tightly, he heads home up the hill. :The eyes watch him some more, and then are gone. What an interesting occurrence. First the thief in the market, and now this unusual sensation. Maybe Beeston would not be so quiet after all. He fingered the circle of his necklace as he walked up to his front door, snapping the bolt open and stepping light and long over the doorway. :"It may be time to bolster the traps, my friend." He grins as he turns to the figure within. Surprise :Birdsong, and the light of dawn coming through the crack in the boards, and I wake. I peer out of the window, all the while checking and re-checking my tools and weapons, patting them with my hands, reassuring myself all is as it should be. I settle down to watch. :Is that movement? Looks like two people moving around. Either he has a guest, or a woman for the night? Or perhaps I have been misinformed and he does not live alone. We shall see. A blackjack will do the trick, in that case. Iceygrave :Grave waved goodbye to his guest from the front door. His hair, pale white from where the dye had washed out, was dishevelled; as were his clothes. He had managed to pull on a loose white shirt and black breeches but his feet were bare. Stretching and yawning he wandered to the fireplace and lit it, a fair lick of flame soon disappearing up the chimney. Scratching behind his ear he put the pot of water over the flames and wandered out to the privy pit at the back of his new house. :The day was too bright for him after his unexpected late night. He thought about that with a wry grin, but did not linger on the memory. The flour would not mill itself and he had to try and pull himself together for the day... Surprise :The visitor leaves. Cloaked and muffled against the cold. Probably a woman. :So is he alone or not? If I were a Wolf officer I'd have my house very secure. But if I were wanting to look respectable, I'd not have mantraps lying around the place... So the best thing to do is come in the public way. Fewer nasty surprises, one would hope. :Could come in the front door, knock him out? Getting into a fight with him would be suicidal. Better to wait until he is milling. The noise of the grindstones should mask my entry. Quick look around. My trained eye should be able to spot hidey-holes. Pulled up floorboards and so on. He's not been here long, the first thing he will have done is hide anything valuable or incriminating, so the evidence of the hiding should be fresh. Iceygrave :Grave finished his morning ablutions. The birds were chipping brightly, flitting from tree to tree. A small blue tit perched on the edge of the roof beam, watching him with intent eyes. A blackbird, worm in beak, flitted off to feed it to some nestlings. The smell of the wildflowers and privy were pungent in his nose as he headed back up into the house. :Low under his voice he hummed a French courtly dance, picking out the lute. "Dum-dah-dum-dah-die-die-die-die-dah!" :His bedroom was untidy, a mess of strewn clothes and an unkempt bed. Searching around he found his old work boots. They were all cracked leather and sticky flour residue. Tucking his feet into them he turned to leave the room. His hand went to his waist and he patted the familiar lump there. It soothed him. As a Wolf he never went anywhere without it. :Smiling to himself, for it was sure to be a beautiful day, he ate a hurried breakfast of eggs baked in the hearth and some mealy bread. Time to get around to the Old Mill. His house shared a wall with it, but there was no interconnecting door. There was actually an window between the buildings that one could climb through, left over from before the newer mill had been built next to the ramshackle old house. Grave preferred the walk around though. It not only allowed him to enjoy the weather, but also to have a quick look around for any signs of intruders. As the Rookie Master he could never be too careful - and only half of the people he had to worry about were his own charges. :On the way through the front door he appeared to stumble and knelt down to adjust his boot before heading off, humming once more. Surprise :He's out... and into the mill next door. I wait briefly until I hear the grind of millstones, then removing my mask and adding a cloak, I go down to the street and pretend to knock on his door. Sometimes wearing no mask is the best mask of all. The ordinary face looks good everywhere. :My billowing cloak disguises the fact that I am picking the lock, and as the door opens I make a big show of being welcomed into the house by an unseen householder. Hopefully anyone watching will think me another female guest. Door shut and locked behind me, cloak off, mask on. I begin my scan of the house... Iceygrave :The stone wheels ground loudly together, setting up their usual fierce dragon scream. Grave idly took a bag of wheat and started to mill it. It would be ground nicely fine by that evening, the cathartic process of changing golden husks into browny white powder to sell to the bakers. :Patting his side he smiled, allowing ten minutes to pass casually in the enjoyment of the everyday. It was very comfortable to take off the mantle of being a Wolf, set it aside for a short time, before forever returning to what he was. :What he had always been. :He turned, leaving the wheels to run dry. He would like to stop them but to do so would alert the shadowy figure who had been hanging around. If his guess was true whoever it was would be inside his house by now. Kneeling before to apparently adjust his boot had, of course, been a simple ruse. It had allowed him enough time to scan for the eyes he knew were on him. They had been watching since the night before. They had seen his guest leave. It was all very interesting. Ultimately futile though. Shaking off the dust of the flour he entered the back room that lead to the inner window. It had no glass, and hung by only a rope. Pushing it open he climbed through, back into the rubbish strewn empty room behind the kitchen. He had not had time to clean it out yet. Maybe he would use it for drying herbs. :Padding, Grave moved to the door, and pressed his eyes to a gap... Surprise :Not much in the main room. A few pieces of furniture. Kitchens are always good places to hide things. Perhaps I'll get a bite to eat while I'm here. :Into the cupboards, feeling in pots and jars. Flour, salt... hold the honey pot up to the light.... nothing in there. A quick flick through notebooks of recipes, to see if any papers have been secreted in there. Anything in code? No. Quietly taking every lid off every pan... nothing. Peer under the stove. No. Actually, is that a loose board? I take a handy knife and start to prise it up. Iceygrave :Rifling through his kitchen things? Grave chuckled silently to himself. Maybe she would be stopping to make herself a sandwich too. :He had never quite seen a thief like this before. Female, that much was obvious, and unmasked. Her features were vaguely familiar but he had no idea from where. The market maybe? Possibly she was a local. He had met so many people over the past few weeks that he could not possibly remember them all. The way she moved spoke of a practised knowledge of this type of work. Not one to trifle with here. He would have to be very careful. :She was obviously looking for something specific. Not a common sneak thief, one to be subdued and recruited to the Wolves. He would have to wait for his moment, take her out quickly. :Briefly he took his eyes from the door. A piece of wood, jagged edged, stood propped against the wall. The sort of club that people used for chasing and killing rats. Grasping it quietly he made a mental note to buy some traps and entice a couple of stray cats to the mill. Now to wait for his moment... :...which opened up all too quickly. For some reason she was looking under the stove. He had barely fired the thing up, preferring to cook over an open fire himself. Stepping out, making sure to tread on only the boards he knew were sound, he swung the club at the back of the surprising figure's head with enough strength to stun... Surprise :Was that a whisper of moving air? I look down past my chest, past my kneeling legs and see a pair of boots. Curse him! Luckily, me looking at his feet means there is a horrible "clang" as whatever he was about to hit me with bounces off the stove door. :I roll onto my back, knife in hand. It was made abundantly clear to me that the mark was not to be killed. He was too useful alive. They wanted to show evidence of wrongdoing, try him, make an example of him. Stabbed, he'd be just another dead Wolf. Putting my elbows down on the ground, flat on my back, I bring my legs up off the ground as I have done so many times in exercises. Arching them upwards, I aim my two feet squarely at his chest and straighten my legs in a fast movement. If I can just knock him out then I can go through his belongings at my leisure. :I catch his eyes. Cold. By Jah this one is a calm one. He's not afraid... he's.... studying me. How I fight, how I move. I'll be lucky to get out of this. Iceygrave :Hmmmm... interesting... a double footed kick at the chest. She is obviously someone accustomed to physical excersize. Strong, lithe, an interesting opponent indeed. The jarring impact of the wooden club on the stove door had sent a ringing into his wrist and he had dropped the implement quickly. As she brought her legs up to kick out at his chest, Grave stepped to one side, fluidily reaching his hand to the bulge at his waist. It was all one movement, the knowledge of the practice ground coupled with an instinct to fight. :Grabbing the handle of the dagger he pulled it free, stepping to the side and around. He swung as her midriff as she sailed past, his full strength pushing into the blow... Surprise :I shudder with pain as the dagger sinks hilt-deep into my guts. Again. A tricky one, dagger in the guts. Sometimes the Gods smile on you and it misses the important bits and doesn't get infected. I wonder if the Gods will smile on me a second time. I grip his wrist, knowing that if he opens me up completely, or removes it so I lose too much blood, I'm dead. My only hope know is that he wants me alive to question me. I won't get far with this wound, alone. Curse it I should have brought one of the others! More fool me. I hiss a challenge to him... :"Well, Wolf, do you want me dead or no?" Iceygrave :His eyes narrowed. "That's your choice, lady. If you squirm, squeal, or so much as move without my permission then I will gut you where you stand." He could feel warmth on his bare skin, and knew that her life was flooding out. The wound would be deep, and though his dagger had been recently cleaned he knew it could be fatal. Pulling the blade out would not help her, but merely speed the death that would surely come. :Detached from the scene, he considered his options. :"First, your name. Then we will see whether you live or die." His hand came up, and he grasped her around the throat. "Take your time. You might have an hour to live." Surprise :"I am named Surprise. I am one of the Emotions, and I was not sent to kill you. Anything else I will not tell you. Professional courtesy, I'm sure you understand." :The last part snarled. I'm in a fix here. He knows he can say he killed me in self-defense. But I will not have my colleagues and employers hunted by Wolves because of my loose tongue. If I die I will die with honor. If I live... well. It's still possible. If he wanted me dead he'd have killed me by now. He either wants information, or a convert. Let him think me a potential Wolf. Iceygrave :"Madame, you break into my house and expect me to understand? In the world outside the door you would be safe. Wolves do not attack in the wild unless they are hungry. You made a mistake the moment you stepped over the threshold of my Den." :He pulled the dagger from her. "I hope you were going to be paid well for it has cost you dearly." His fist came around in a blow designed to knock the sense from her head. :"Surprise!" He grinned. Surprise :A blow to the head and then... nothing.... :. :. :. :So this is hell, is it? Not as hot as the priests told me it would be. Too much for me to expect to be in heaven. Dizzy... :. :. :. :My lips are cracked and dry, and my guts hurt. I can't move. I risk a look at the afterlife. Blearily I open my eyes. It looks very much like a back room in a normal house. What kind of Purgatory is this? :... oh, curse it. I'm alive. :Looking down, I see that my abdomen has been bandaged. And my feet tied. And I can't move my arms. :A fox caught in the jaws of a wolf. Iceygrave :He smiled at the figure on the bed. Carrying her in here unconscious was probably best for her wound. The leather straps that she had carried since Wales, stolen from the torture chamber of the Dark Prince, were perfect to secure her to the bed. He would have the truth out of her, but first to ensure that she lived long enough to tell it. :The stall holders down at the market held in stock certain herbs guaranteed to take away pain, if not heal the wound that caused it. Ground together they formed a sickly sweet mealy paste. Added to some water they should be palatable. :Standing next to the bed he put the foul smelling brew to her lips. "Drink." Once she had finished he smiled, pulling his dagger from his belt. "Now, why don't you tell me more about you, Surprise? I doubt that is your real name. I am Sir Julien Delval, alias Icey Grave, Lord Of Midnight." He touched the dagger to her face. "And you are an Emotion. Take off your mask. Keep me amused. And I may yet let you live." Surprise :"Why not... you'll learn nothing from it. A name for a name. Abertha ferch Hefyn is the name I was given, but I haven't used it in a long time. :What's in that foul water of yours? You relieve yourself in it? Tastes disgusting..." :Pure bravado and braggadocio. But it's all I have now. Iceygrave :"Abertha ferch Hefyn?" The name danced easily over his tongue, practised with that language as he was. "Hmmm. That sounds familiar. Would I have known your family? Would they have been in the Ynys Mon region?" Surprise :"Ynys Môn? No. I'm from the south of Wales. That's where I grew up, with my Mam, in Pontardawe. I'm not sure where Da was from. He arrived in our village after the Rebellion, so he said. What he was running away from and what side he was on, well, he didn't say and I didn't ask. He's too young to be Owain Glyndŵr, before you ask..." :I smirk, which becomes a grimace. :"And of you, Frenchman? You fight with Owain? That how you know Ynys Môn? You don't sound Breton, mind." Iceygrave :"I spent some time on the beautiful Isle, at the palace of the Welsh Princes. It is where I met our glorious Leader Inanna, but then she was just a slip of a girl. I must say she has matured marvellously. "A smirk crossed his features. "But of course it is I who should be asking the questions. My history is not really any of your concern. What you should be worried about is your present. For if you stop whispering sweet words in my ear, then things could get very painful for you... I could oversleep and forget your pain medication. And wounds can so easily open up..." :Reaching out a hand he pressed lightly on her midriff, watching as though fascinated. "So I suggest you think carefully about that while you tell me about your friends the Emotions. Why did you join them anyway? You seem to have far too much class for a base assassin." Surprise :So that's why I feel so woozy. Pain medication. Probably a tongue loosener in there too. No matter. It's good to share all this. :"Class? Flatterer. It's a job. I have the skills for it. A flair, perhaps. It puts bread on the table. And I joined the Emotions because a group is better for this sort of thing. I have proved that today. Solo a job and it all goes wrong. You're a Wolf... you should know that. A pack hunts better. :Mind you, I never enjoyed the killing like others do. I have killed. Usually when they deserved it, either for punishment or mercy. I enjoy punishing people. And I enjoy the comradeship of my colleagues. We are friends, after a fashion. We flit in and out of each other's lives, bicker and fight. But at least we understand each other somewhat." :I'm certainly not going to tell him why I left home though. Those scars run deep. Suffice it to say, I have a reputation as a man-hater and it is well deserved. My first hunt was to deal with the scum that did for my honour, and it did my tortured mind a lot of good to watch them die very slowly. And I have mellowed with the years. I have even flirted and dallied with some of the male Emotions, but I keep them at a distance. And I can even admit, now, that some men are honourable. :So I'm not a man-hater any more. How do I feel? They are just... nothing. I feel nothing for them. Well, not that exactly. I enjoy some men, to look at or more, but they are just... furniture. Decorative. To be used. Objects. Tools. To be honest, these days I feel pretty much the same way about women too. :The Emotions are tools, for doing work, and so I feel comfortable among them. They have purpose. This one who touches my belly has a purpose also. I should feel threatened, tied to his bed, but I don't. He is cold too. Numb. :If I were in his position I'd have tied me down too. No, he sees a finely-crafted tool, a machine, and wants to know how it works. So he makes it safe, and then begins his study. And so we talk to one another about our nature, dispassionately studying one another as a warrior may study the fine craftsmanship of a sword. Iceygrave :He smiled. How many times has tied down a victim? Had them at his mercy? He had lost count. Originally a footsoldier he had learned other traits, and become good at them. He had learned to push his emotions away, to lock them in a room deep in his psyche. With a calculated eye he could look at his victim, sum them up quickly. His brain scanned over the methods of extracting information from a target. He took a scholarly interest in the balance of pleasure and pain. Feeding one while depriving the other could have a delightful result. It was just deciding which would be the carrot and which the stick. To torture someone the expert found a fine balance. Feed too much rope and they would escape. Hold them too close and they would die. :It was all about choice. :"Yes, a pack hunts better. So you were foolish to come here alone today. Two of your could have overwhelmed me and our positions would be reversed." Taking a dagger from his belt, he examined it thoughtfully. "So you enjoy punishing people? I do not. I hate it. But too often it has become necessary. I have a talent for it. Some would call it a flair." He looked away into the dusty corner, horrified at himself. :"So why did you not bring your friends? Where are they now? Or was I considered an easy mark?" Surprise :If he thinks he can scare me easily he's got another thing coming. Besides, whatever he's dosed me with means I can't even feel my fingers. :"They're working. To be honest, the main reason only one Emotion was sent was because your "friend" was too miserly to pay for more than one. I should have turned it down. I was told you were a fop. It seems I was misinformed." :If he seeks to torture me, I don't know what information he wants. Who employed me, presumably. Unfortunately, I don't know. We are never told, for this very reason. We are told the mark, and the job, and that is all. About all I could tell him is where our current hideout is. I've hardly been there. I know where it is, though. But the thought of a pack of vengeful Wolves battling the Emotions... well... I'd rather not. I have a nasty feeling there are more Wolves. This may hurt. Iceygrave :"A fop eh? There are a few that think that of me." He laughed. "A fop? Oh, how it is possible to mix good manners and a little elegant behaviour. I have always found that the circumstances should dictate the behaviour. Desi was someone who understood that only too well. Some would say that good and evil are two sides of the same coin - but there is more to life than black and white. I am sure that however sent you to search my house was looking for some sign of misdeeds. But you would not have found them no matter how high or low you searched. For my misdeeds are all in my heart and my mind, mademoiselle. I am considered evil because I do not simply believe something because it is politically expedient to do so. Evil because I am not willing to bend like a sapling in a breeze... :"I have no need of the papers you were looking for. I never forget my duties." :He crossed to the window, looking around outside before pulling down the blind. "Unlike you. You are a contract killer. Your beliefs follow the money, your conscience has always been paid. What is to stop me from killing you right here and now? Nobody would hear your screams..." He tightened one of the bonds on the bed, watching it stretch her, knowing the pain it would cause to her wound. "Now tell me why I should keep you alive. Maybe you could tell me a good story. I like stories. Tell me of your home..." :From her wound she was dying already. The pain draught he had given her would take away most of her suffering. He had seen wounds of this nature before. She may last until morning, but the damage was already done. Before she died he had to find out who had sent her, and why. If there was a threat to the Wolves from the Emotions, if someone was trying to set them against each other, he must know how and why. Before whoever this person was set Chester aflame with their ambitions. Surprise :I grit my teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry out. I kill for money AND a good reason. Before, I only had the money. Now I have a reason as well. Sadist. :"So, you like to hear women scream do you? Maybe I would enjoy killing you after all. So you want a story of Wales, do you? What sort of stories do you like? Gods and Heroes, lords and ladies, dragons and bwbachod? Hmmm? I'm sure I could tell you a good story if you want a bedtime tale, little boy. Perhaps you can tell me a story too." :Bravado again. If I'm going to be killed I'll do it spitting in his eye. Iceygrave :He shook his head. Her vehemence was quite amusing. "Scream? No. Screaming does nothing for me. Don't flatter yourself that I enjoy any of this. It is a job that needs doing. I don't care for it. If I didn't think you could tell me something about why you were sent I would kill you right away. As it is I will have to draw it out of you." He slid his hand around her chin, lifting her head up, looking into her drugged eyes. There was something certainly familiar about her. "Welsh... are you sure? Your father came from abroad?" Surprise :"WELSH! You have a problem with that? Welsh I am, mother and father and my grandparents too, and as far back as they can remember. Don't sound it unless I'm stressed, because people remember the Rebellion and I can't move as freely as I'd like if I'm all "look you". Da taught me to speak like the English, when I want to. Safer, he said. He could do it too. We used to go across the border and pretend to be English, for a laugh. He could do Scots too, and Irish. Clever, my da." :Ah, I'm raving now, I can hear it. I sound like a little child proud of her father, proud of her home. I think I know I'll never see home again. Well, the longer I can speak about old history, the less he can ask me about the Emotions before I'm past caring. Iceygrave :Ah, so she was a spirited one. Interesting. There was nothing like a challenge. "I don't see you being able to move about much now, 'm anwylyd, no matter what your accent is." The Welsh for 'my beloved' had come unbidden into his mind. He wondered when the last time he had said that was. The dark haired women - what was her name? No matter. She had meant little to him. Not like his current love. Shaking thoughts of her from his mind he smiled grimly, releasing Surprise's face and tracing his hand downwards. He could not afford to grow soft. Before she died he must find out the truth. "So you travelled a lot as a child? Was your father on the run? Was he one of your kind?" Surprise :"I said. I know little. He never said, and I didn't ask. Well, I did. I was six. But he never answered. I know he was Welsh because he spoke in Cymraeg at home. Can't see many English making the effort to learn it. :He wasn't a hired sword, no. Trading, he did. Driving sheep around the place for markets, cheeses, fruit. Whatever was in season. I have a feeling he used to be a sword though. In the Rebellion, perhaps. Difficult one, that one. In my village, there's more honour in being on the losing side, but travelling around England, being on the losing side in the Welsh Rebellion is not good for your health. Hence the fake English accents. We'd pretend to be from Hastings. Even went there a few times, get to know the town if anyone asked us where we were from. :He taught me sword and daggers. Defending myself. Well, when the odds are even, anyway. I learned complacency all by myself, it seems. :So, why so interested in my da? Your daughter run off with a Welshman?" :I'm running out of quips. My belly feels hot. Iceygrave :"Daughter? Ha!" He laughed. "I have no daughter. No family of my own. There was never any time. Despite what you may believe of me madame I am not one for taking liberties with women. I enjoy them wholly, the sport. Or always did. I think things are changing. :Shaking his long mane of white hair he continued. "Three brothers, all still in France. At least I presume that is where they are. I have not seen them for ten years. Since the youngest was 5. He is old enough to fight now. I wonder where he is." :Grave shook his head and stepped away from the bed. The vial of pain numbing opium still stood next to the door. Picking it up he eyed it idly. It was time for another dose. Hourly the woman had said, and not to use too much. Too much would result in death. :He looked at the figure on the bed. She was dying anyway. Nothing could stop that. A stomach wound was always fatal. Once the intestine was puncture the bacteria started to spread. It was not a nice way to die. "You should rest. I will return in an hour. Then you will tell me everything." He blew out the candle and shut the door, leaving her in pitch black silence. Surprise :Lying in the dark, my belly is hot and itches. I won't last much longer. I wonder why he's so interested in my family. I'd have thought he'd wanted to know about the Emotions, or my employer, but he's suddenly more interested in who I am. Guilty conscience? Does he want to deliver me to my relatives? I have no living relatives.... that I know of, anyway. :Except... there was always a suspicion. He said we pretended to be from Hastings because it was far from home. But we always had our picnics in the same spot. Overlooking a manor house where a woman and her daughter used to enjoy the sunshine. Da was always careful not to be seen, but he used to watch them for a while and then we'd go. I used to pretend the girl was my big sister, when I was young and full of romantic stories the bards used to sing me. Then one day when I was older it occurred to me that she might be. Half sister, anyway. :She was always up trees and muddy. Her mam seemed to love her, though. Just like me... she'd be a lady now though. Probably married off to some lord and stifling in a solar somewhere. Bored out of her mind. I always wondered... shame. When you get to the end of your life you think of all the questions you should have got answered. :"OI! WOLF! You're going to kill me, write me a letter! I need to write to someone!" Iceygrave :He heard her shout out. Not exactly what he had expected Surprise to be saying though. Normally there was beginning for mercy. It was a shame that she had chosen to become an Emotion. Given time she could have been a Wolf. Given training a very good Wolf. :"No," He said to himself. "Not with that mouth on her." :Going alone into the house of an enemy was not something a Wolf would do. Well, apart from the cause mischief. Picking up a feather quill and an old scrap of parchment he moved back into the room. It was now or never. :"So you have a last request do you?" He eyed her wound. She was sillouetted on the bed by only the light coming from the hallway outside. Even in such dark conditions it was obvious that she did not have long. The sweats and chills had set in. Twirling the pen between his fingers his ice blue eyes watched her coldly. "I'll do you a deal, Emotion. All I need from you is one word. A very simple word. You give it to me and I will write down your letter and send it to whoever you wish. I will make sure you die without pain. Defy me, and the pain will be manifest and nobody will ever know what happened to you. You will vanish from history." :"You have nothing to lose. Tell me who hired you." Surprise :"Unknown. There's your one word. I don't do the hiring, I just do the work. We get told who the mark is and what we're to do, but nothing else. Certainly not who we're working for. I work for the Emotions, so if you want to know who hired me then you'll have to go and find them, and like as not they'll gut you too. Ask for Apathy. He'll probably rip your head off." :The thought of my current flirt dealing with this upstart Wolf gives me a bit of pleasure for the moment. The wolf is snug his own den, but if he dares find the Emotions it will be very messy. The thought that I will not be "luv" again brings a tear to my eye briefly. Ah well. Apathy will find another Emotion for his lap, no doubt. There certainly are enough Emotion females, judging by our last meeting. He is Apathy, of course. Probably won't care much. :"Write this, Wolf. You'll probably have trouble finding her. But I think my Da was a little indiscreet before I was born. I have a half-sister, then. Bit older than I so she would be about 40, brought up in Hastings, noble family. Not know her father, or perhaps know that he was a Welshman. Tell her his name was Hefyn and he is now dead, but was a good man. He lived in Pontardawe and raised a daughter called Abertha who was an Emotion known as Surprise, who is dead too, by the time she gets this note. If she wants my body to grieve over and bury, let her take it. :Take my whip and give it to the Emotions, in person if you have a death wish. They will know I am dead, then. Send it to Black Wolf of Winchester. Kit. Jenshen or Lenshen? It's no secret people come to him if they want to hire us. But I warn you some of the Emotions are unhinged. They will have revenge in mind. They may come and find you first..." :I laugh briefly, but it hurts and I feel dizzy. Better finish my last Will and Testament... :"I have in my pouch a triquetra. You can keep that as payment, or give it to my sister if you're sentimental. :I have nothing else but weapons and a horse, and I stole that. You're welcome to that too. And what else of my weaponry you like the look of. I have some nice pieces. Italian. Good steel. :So I can't give you what you ask for. But I can give you everything else but my corpse and my whip. " Iceygrave :His pen began to scratch lightly on the paper. His face was a mask drawn over his normally expressive features, the encroaching ice of winter upon a placid pond. His eyes glimmered in the low light. :As he wrote down the words, his brain was elsewhere. She did not know who had sent her. But she spoke of the Emotions, the ones who had given her this insane mission. One of them would know. Grave knew that he would find his answers there. He recalled the night that Black Wolf had come to his own Den. Maybe it was time to repay the compliment. His tongue snook out over his teeth. :Yes, her whip would be the perfect key to open that particular door, just as it could bring many people to heel if used correctly. As for the other Emotions... well, he had ways of protecting himself and his own and not all of them were Wolfly. :Her dictation finished, and he looked up from the page. Setting aside quill and parchment he sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. His memory troubled him. Another face. Another time. But who? The edge of that cheek... :He reached out and touched her face, his eyes narrowing. If only she would stop her blathering about things to be left behind he might be able to think. "Yes, yes, whip, family heirloom, weapons, horse..." He waved vaguely. "I can think of someone who could use the horse. They won't go to waste. But the question is - who are you? Who are you really? And why do I know you?" Surprise :"Told you... Abertha. Surprise. We've not... met. You don't know me. Perhaps you met my Da. If you were in England then. If not... heh... maybe you know my sister. Now that would be blessed irony from the Gods, eh. Maybe she took after her Da too, eh? :Who is anyone really? Who are you? You French gentleman or Wolf, answer me that riddle... :Tell you what I am, I'm dead. Nearly. Spose is all we are really. Either alive or dead. Was alive... sort of. Part of me died... long time ago." :Ah I'm tired. That it should end like this... :"I'd better tell you about the girl. So she'll believe you. She had dark hair. Hoyden spirit, as I said. When she played in the garden... white house it was. Blackthorn trees, two of them. She would roll down the hills in the little cart she was supposed to keep her building blocks in, dig for worms for her grandpa's fishing trips. She had a little bit of garden for her own for planting flowers and such but she seemed more fascinated with the woodlice growing in the stones. Big bush with yellow flowers she used to hide under. Little den, so it was. Half of that garden was in her mouth. She'd look at the pretty flowers, sniff 'em then taste one too. Mad girl, just like me." Iceygrave :Watching someone die was never pleasant. Not even for Grave, who had seem it - had caused it - many times. His own recent history made him uncomfortable around the dying. Someone had helped him. Someone had saved him when he had thrust forth his hand from the ground. He felt sick at this, a waste of life, caused by an unknown enemy. He would track down these Emotions and find out who had sent her. :Surprise had been dead the moment his dagger hit her, that much was sure. She just had not stopped moving yet. Listening to her talk he thought that they would have gotten on had they spent more time together. Certainly they would ever have become friends, but possibly passing acquaintances. :He reached out a hand and brushed back the hair that hung in tendrils over her damp forehead. Picking up the bowl of pain medication he held it to her lips and forced her to drink... and drink... until it ran down the sides of her face. In a large enough amount it would kill her. "There, no more pain for you." He picked up a cloth, wiping the streams from her face, dabbing at her fevered skin. As he did so another time and place flashed across his mind. A caravan, a morning after a night of passion... :Of course. :It was her. :He laughed at the irony. She would be enraged to find out that he had killed her sister. :How ironic. "I know who your sister is... her name is..." Desideratist :Some distance away in Hereford, Desi is asking the mayor of that town, who travelled to Beeston, if he had ever met Sir Julien Delval. They had been lovers, for a time. :And the irony... he had just mortally wounded her half-sister... her only surviving close relative? But Desi doesn't know this. She doesn't even know that she has a sister.... Surprise :After the bitter drink... I dream. The older girl that played in the house in Hastings, she is inviting me to play. She has pretty green eyes. She doesn't care who I am or where I'm from. She shows me her den under the yellow flower bush where she buries her toys so she can "discover" them again, the mat Mother provided to save the knees of her stockings. She shows her new sister Abertha which flowers taste sweet, and where the pets were buried, under the blackberry bush. :They play at climbing trees, pretending to be sea captains. Her sister shows Abertha the teeming colony of woodlice in the bricks around her little garden. Not a flower garden, but when you look close it's a miniature garden. A small stream running through it. Tiny plants trimmed to look like little trees. A toy horse walking through it. All this in a patch only a foot or so square. They amuse themselves poking the woodlice until they curl into little balls. :They play together happily until it starts to get dark.... very dark.... Iceygrave :Grave watched her chest fall as she puffed out a weak breath. He waited for the next but it did not come. That was it then. Over. :Surprise was dead. :He closed her eyes gently, turning her from the tough Surprise into the woman Abertha. Reaching into his pocket he placed a coin on each lid, then opening her mouth and slotting one within. She would be afforded all of the burial privileges he knew. A noble soul, started from the same beginning as Desi but perverted to become this - an Emotion. Her allegiance had lead to her death. What would she have been if she had the same life as Desi? :Her words echoed in his mind. "Who is anyone really? Who are you? You French gentleman or Wolf, answer me that riddle... " He spoke to her body, knowing that her soul was even now free, leaching away to join the rivers that ran across the planet. "We are what we make ourselves. We are the sum of our choices multiplied by our experiences." :The spirit of Abertha would be reborn somewhere else, in some other body. He hoped for her sake that next time it would end happily. That it would not end with a Surprise. :Looking around the room he realised, suddenly, that this was not good. To be found here with a dead body in his house, having just arrived in Beeston, would not endear him to the locals. Better to dispose of the evidence quickly... Iceygrave :The room was dark. Three candles, freshly tallowed from beeswax, sat on the floor. Their light was low, but it still managed to illuminate all but the spider filled corners. The scent of incense caressed the nostrils, rising with the smoke from a censer set off to one side. The heady result was intoxicating, stronger than the finest wine, not nearly as pleasant. The only sound came from the small drum set between his legs that echoed his heartbeat as he tapped upon it with his callused fingertips. His breathing was slow and regular, his eyes closed. Soft white hair cascaded over his shoulders. Scars that ran deep were cast into sharp relief, making him look far older than his years. A low keening arose from his lungs, over his tongue, and burst from his mouth. :Time passed. The church clock struck midnight. He felt the energy in the room grow until it raised the hairs on his arms. Goosebumps stood out across his skin. He could feel the ether was thin here, recently burst by a new penetration. His throat was dry, his voice cracking as he spoke. :"Lady Queen, I have sent you a new soul this day, the one known as Abertha, and also Surprise to those of the mortal realm. I humbly ask that you return her spirit to this place. There is a further question that I must ask, should you judge me fitting to know the answer..." :Grave sat, and waited, the drum pulsing in his hands. Surprise :Suddenly I feel a pull from the blesséd darkness. A thumping drum gives me a heartbeat again for a time. I feel the presence of deity, a woman in green. She wants me to talk to someone... :But one should not travel that way. It is a one way street. Dragged backwards from my rest, my soul feels increasing pain as I return to the mortal realm from whence I came. :Pain, anger and frustration gives me some substance. I want to go back to sleep, and all that remains of my feelings gives me strength to curse him, that he had killed me too fast for his liking; if he wanted to ask me questions, should have done it before I died... :The more I curse, the stronger I feel. I see him there, wavering, as if underwater. I try to reach him, to hit him, make him stop, but he seems protected from me in some way. :To make him stop is my only desire. I flail at the candles until one goes out. Heartened by this achievement, I put all my effort into it, and one topples over, spilling wax all over the floor before guttering and going out. :"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" I scream at him. He can probably barely hear me. Iceygrave :The candle tipped and fell, spilling wax onto his bare feet. The distraction was an annoyance but not enough to make him break his concentration. To do so would be to allow the silver threads of the spirit to slip away to the Great River once more. Grave was not prepared to accept that. He must know the answer. :She spoke to him. Her voice was barely a whisper. It sounded more like the wind through trees than the amused and harsh tones of the woman he had tied to the bed. Her body was buried in the back garden, reverently placed under a natural stone carved with a raft of holy symbols. All apart from the single sliver of skin he had taken from the back of her hand and coiled into the brasier. Spirits were always called back to their own physicality, but cavorting in the night air with a ghost was not bound to give him a good reputation in these parts. :"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" :He spoke in his native French, his voice cracking in the night air. "One question I will ask of you, Abertha. One thing and then you may rest. Tell me the truth and you will be allowed to return to the River. Defy me and I will trap you between worlds." Surprise :Talking to himself in his own language. If he were talking to me he'd be speaking English or Welsh. But somehow I can feel the meaning in his words. A threat. He dares threaten the dead. I can't touch him, I have barely the strength to blow out candles. However, the fact that his Goddess felt the need to protect him means I must be able to threaten him in some way. :Mustering all my strength, I bellow in his face, asking him what he wants. I had thought he would torture me before I died... :Spinning round, I see that I am able more to affect things around me rather than touch them. It is a different kind of life, and I am learning it. Power of will. And my power seems to be centred on that brazier of his. My being seems to be centred in that fire, fed by it. I come closer to the fire and feel warmth, not as warmth but more as strength. I knock over the third and final candle, and see the brazier flare up. :With a giggle, I suck power from the brazier until it goes out, and all of it is inside me. It gives me strength enough to break through the protective barrier his Goddess has woven around him, and I put my ethereal fingers round his throat and squeeze as hard as I can.... but it's not hard enough. :With the fire inside me I relight the candles, and for good measure the drapes too. That should give him something to think about... I have a feeling that me taking his sorcerous power from the brazier may have stuck me on this earth for a time, until the fire inside me has gone out, but making his life a misery will give me something to do while I wait for the Hounds of Annwn to chase me to the Otherworld. Arawn will not leave me here. Iceygrave :Something has gone wrong. Very wrong. Normally the spirits listen, and answer, and then he releases them back to the River. Tonight this one is fighting him. His concentration slips as the brazier flickers and then goes out. The room is dark, and his eyes fly open. He sees her standing there, figure ethereal, surrounded by the flames. :No matter. If she wanted to play games he was capable of duelling too... :The candles relit. He blinked at the sudden light. Bright. Too bright just for candles. His head turned, and a stroke of fear punched him in the stomach. Curtains! Fire in his house... with all the flour dust hanging around... flour dust explodes... :Jumping to his feet he felt himself calm. Action was what was needed, not fear or panic. Pushing those two strange emotions away he looked around the room. The spirit was still hanging above the brazier, as though she knew about the physical component of his spell. Angry now he grabbed the censer and threw the ashes to the floor, breaking the spell. :Once more in French. "You are trapped here now, a fell spirit, doomed to walk between worlds. Your own stubborness has caused this. I warned you. My Queen curses you." His eyes narrowed, hissing the words. The room was alight now, blazing brightly. Running, he rushed through the door, crashing it open with his shoulder. The night air hit him, a cold wall, hurting his lungs. Pushed from behind he stumbled and fell onto the grass, flat on his face. :The building exploded. Surprise :I laugh as he tries to undo his sorcery. Fool to meddle with such things. I'm here now. The fire's power removes the pain. I watch as the Wolf runs out, tail between his legs, fearing the fire as animals always do. :And as the powdered flour ignites with a whoosh and the mill explodes. Windows and roof detonated... but.... no flames. No flames because my earthbound spirit has absorbed all of the fire in a burst of sheer power. I'm going to be here for some time... :As tiles and bits and pieces continue to fall like rain on him, I laugh at him. Meddler. His Goddess will not protect him from me, too foolish to speak to a spirit in a language she will understand. So now his house is a shell, inhabited by a vengeful spirit. The explosion has given me power enough... enough for what? More than he suspects, I feel. Watching him lying on the grass, I shout after him to ask his questions in English next time, and for good measure trickle some of my fires into the seat of his trousers. Fool. He can't hurt me now. :He will have to come back to me and beg the answer to his question. Beg my forgiveness. I'll make him think twice about torturing the spirits. Shame I am unable to get to the Otherworld just yet. I bet there are many there who would like to see this Wolf with his seat on fire. Category:Work in Progress